THE NANNY'S SECRET

by Monica McLean

  "Atta girl." Dr. Jo smiled, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "You realize normal's a relative term."

  Amelia glanced over her shoulder to catch the doctor's wink.

  She spent the day going through a battery of tests and numerous consultations with specialists, after which Dr. Jo delivered good news and bad news.

  On the upside, she was healthy as a horse, with no evidence of brain damage whatsoever. On the downside, the doctors could find no conclusive explanation for her memory loss and offered no sure-fire prognosis for recovery.

  While the latter both frustrated and alarmed her, for a while there, she'd feared irreparable, physical damage. Dr. Jo had gone strangely quiet upon examining several X rays of her head, after which she'd ordered a bone survey, which she explained was a scan of her entire body. But in the end, she'd delivered her final verdict as a clean bill of health.

  "So where do I go from here?" Amelia worried her lip.

  "Casper. I'd like you to see a colleague of mine. A specialist." She handed over a card. Emma Andersson, M.D. Psychiatrist.

  Her head snapped up. "You think I need counseling?"

  "I think we could all benefit from counseling." Dr. Jo smiled. "In your case, I just want to cover all the bases. The goose egg sent me in one direction, and I don't want to overlook the other."

  "Meaning I might have mental problems?" She swallowed.

  "Meaning we have nothing to lose by seeking another professional opinion. Psychological trauma has been known to cause a certain type of amnesia we call psychogenic."

  Images from her dream flashed in her mind.

  Could it have been a memory after all?

  "Dr. Jo?" She drew a breath. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you. Is there any way doctors can tell if a woman's given birth before? I mean, from her body…?"

  "It's possible. Why?"

  She told her about the dream. "Did you see anything today that might indicate…?"

  "There's nothing obvious, like stretch marks. But I wasn't looking for the nonobvious. If you want me to—"

  "Not today." Amelia shook her head. "I think I've reached my limit."

  "Let me tell you something," Dr. Jo said, taking a seat. "Now Dr. Andersson's the authority here, but I suspect she'll back me up on this. If we are dealing with psychogenic amnesia, you don't want to play detective to unearth your answers. They'll surface when your mind's good and ready."

  "So if it's true, if I really did … lose a baby, it's better if I remember on my own than if you tell me?"

  "Exactly." Dr. Jo indicated the card in her hand. "I took the liberty of having you scheduled." On the back, she had written Friday—1:00 p.m. The day after tomorrow. "Are you all right with this?"

  Amelia forced a smile. "Do I have a choice?"

  "Yes, you do." Dr. Jo's gaze held steady, her green eyes solemn. "It's your decision, Amelia. Give the office at least twenty-four hours' notice if you want to cancel."

  She stared at the card. Jo was right—she didn't have anything to lose. And she did so want to be well again. She remembered what Brooks had told her on the way over about Jo and her late husband and marveled again at the depth of Jo's compassion and courage. How did a woman become so strong?

  Amelia didn't know, but she wanted to be like that, wanted to confront her fears head-on, instead of running, being a victim, feeling captive.

  "I'll go," she said, tucking the card into her pocket. When she looked up, she noticed the doctor's eyes had taken on a faraway quality. But before she could blink, Dr. Jo smoothed a hand over her hair and snapped her attention back to her patient.

  "Atta girl," she whispered, patting Amelia's hand.

  * * *

  At the first opportunity, Brooks pulled Jo aside and grilled her. They were in the hallway outside her office. "Well? What do you think?"

  She narrowed her gaze and tucked Amelia's file under her arm. "I think you should tend your cattle and let me tend my patients." She poked his stomach to prod him out of her way. Though she neither confirmed nor denied anything, one look at her, and Brooks knew she'd found something.

  Amelia's tests had taken longer than expected, and he'd spent the afternoon pacing the waiting room. Uneasily he glanced toward the room, where she was now waiting for him.

  "What is it, Jo? You know something. Come on." He bent his knees, so they were eye-level. "She doesn't have any family."

  "I know." Jo frowned, her fingers kneading the tendons on the side of her neck, clearly grappling whether or not to confide in him.

  "We're it." Brooks reached out a hand to work out her kink. "If it would help her…"

  "It would." She angled her neck. "I know it would. It's just so tricky with her amnesia. She's the patient, but if she had family, they're the ones I'd be counseling right now."

  He didn't say anything more, let her reach her own conclusion.

  "Wait here. I'll see if she'll sign a release." She disappeared around the corner, then returned a few minutes later. With a brisk nod, she looked him square in the eye. "This stays between you and me. No one else. Understood?"

  "Got it."

  "Not even Amelia."

  He frowned. "But—"

  "No buts, Brooks. I'm the doctor here. You need to trust me."

  "I do. I just don't get why—"

  "You will." She drew a breath and tugged him into an empty examining room. Only after closing door did she let him see the depth of her concern. "Amelia's been hurt."

  Panic reared up and kicked him in the chest. "Bad?"

  "Yes. But it's not recent."

  "What do you mean not recent?" He searched her eyes. "She just cracked her head the other day."

  "The X rays show more… Older injuries. There's a clear pattern."

  Pattern?

  "No…" Brooks shook his head, but that age-old, icy dread was roiling in his gut.

  "You'd know it as well as I would."

  "No." He gritted his teeth and braced one hand on the wall, the other covering his eyes.

  "It's not accidental."

  He swore viciously. Cold fury oozed into his pores until it filled every inch of his body with rage, until he shook with the effort of holding himself back from putting his fist through the wall.

  "She has numerous fractures," Jo said. "Some weren't set and didn't heal properly, like her nose—you can see a bump there, on the bridge. The others aren't as obvious."

  "God Almighty." He rubbed his face.

  "I don't think her injuries were sustained over a long period of time, but it looks like more than one incident. I think she spent a good amount of time in hospitals, probably with her abuser sitting right by her side, supplying doctors with phony stories to cover his ass."

  "I want to find him." Brooks clamped down on his jaw. "I want to hunt him down and show him exactly how it feels, that son of a—"

  "I know," Jo whispered. "I do, too. Every time I see a woman, a child… Don't think for a second I don't feel the same way. Everything we do is shaped by our past. I can't get away from it any more than you can." She reached out then and took his balled fists in her hands, looking up into his eyes. "That's why it's so important to channel our experiences into something productive. We can help Amelia, perhaps better than those who didn't have a front-row seat to what she's been through."

  His eyes stung, and his voice came hoarse. "What can we do?"

  "I don't know for sure what's caused her memory loss. I've recommended a psychiatrist. My guess is her mind's shut down in order to process something difficult. Maybe it was triggered by the bump on the head. I don't know. But she's shut out the good as well as the bad. If I'm right, if she is suffering from psychological trauma, we have to be careful not to plant suggestions or press her to remember. The mind shuts down as a natural defense. She'll remember in her own time, when she feels safe."

  "What … can I do?" He was afraid of the answer.

  Jo's gaze never wavered. "You know the profile of a batte
red woman. You know what she needs. Give it to her," she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Brooks yanked his hands from hers as if scorched. He backed up, smacking the examining table, its sterile paper rustling. "You don't know what you're asking."

  "For you to be her friend, not just her employer."

  "No." He shook his head. "Not me. Mitch or Dean." They'd keep it platonic. He would make sure they kept it platonic. "Let me talk to them tonight."

  "No. Between the two of them, one's likely to blow it, and I'd put money on Dean. Bless his heart, he's too much of a straight-shooter to pay mind to discretion. Or tact. And Mitch isn't that far behind. They're too young. They don't know things like we do. They didn't see what we saw."

  "Isn't that better?" He was grasping. He knew he was. He groaned. "I can't. Not her. Especially not her. No," he said again. "No way."

  Jo didn't reply for a long moment, simply stared at him. A long, measuring stare. Arms crossed. Jaw set. He could see the wheels turning in her mind as she prepared to pull out the big guns. "Brooks Hart," she said quietly. "I have never asked you for anything in my entire adult life."

  "Not this, Jo. Please. Not this." I don't know if I can be just her friend.

  She saw his plea and upped the ante, "You can help her. I know you can. Please, do it for me. Do it for Mom…"

  Bull's-eye. Like an arrow straight through his heart, she got him where he lived. As children, they hadn't been able to help their mother. As an adult, Brooks had to stop himself whenever he wandered into the endless wasteland of would have, could have, should haves. "It won't bring her back," he said. "Nothing can bring her back."

  "You're right," she said. "But there's catharsis in helping others, others like her. I've seen it, done it."

  "God, you make it sound so easy." He paced the small room like a penned bull.

  "It's not that difficult. All you have to do is let her lead. Just follow wherever she goes. Give her the chance to regain her self-confidence … her faith in men."

  He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. What if their friendship turned into something more? A small voice told him in the best of scenarios Timmy could have a real mother, but he couldn't let himself go there.

  He'd resigned himself long ago to the fact he would never be a husband or a father. Timmy's arrival made him break one of his rules, but he wasn't budging on the other.

  Amelia might have known nothing about her past, but he knew far too much about his.

  It was the worst-case scenario he feared. With reason. He'd never been tested, didn't know what would happen if he was. Would he turn into Amelia's worst nightmare, into his worst nightmare—a man who would sooner sell his soul than live without the woman he loved?

  * * *

  Lightning flickered like a faulty flashlight in a gray, overcast sky, the rumble of thunder vibrating the ground.

  Brooks halted under the covered entrance as the storm broke and splattered fat raindrops on the blacktop. "Well, that's different," he commented, then explained to Amelia.

  "This is more like a summer storm. Spring's usually misty with sleet."

  "I like it." She inhaled deeply, and he did the same. "Nice to breathe fresh air again, isn't it?"

  "Definitely," he said. "You, uh, want to wait a bit? Rinse out our lungs?"

  A slight smile curved her lips. "That'd be great." They watched the rain fall, trading sweet, damp air for the hospital's antiseptic smell.

  "So," she said after a time. "Jo told you everything."

  "Yeah."

  "Including her recommendation of another opinion."

  He nodded. "You'll like Dr. Andersson."

  "You know her?"

  He stuck his hands into his pockets. "I went to see her after Luke died. Jo did, too."

  "Did it help?"

  "I didn't think so at the time. I wasn't ready. Last night with you, that's the first I've talked about it. But the things Dr. Andersson said… She was right, looking back."

  "Thanks for telling me." She didn't say anything else but stole furtive glances at him through the corner of her eye, as if trying to figure out what he wasn't telling her.

  Brooks kept his expression carefully neutral, not wanting her to read anything on his face or glimpse the true depth of his feelings. Damn it, he didn't want to have feelings, not for any woman and especially not this one.

  She bit her lip. "Have you called the nanny agency?"

  "No, why?"

  She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "I didn't know if you were planning to … request someone else."

  "Another nanny?" he asked, incredulous.

  She nodded and stared down at her feet.

  "Well now." He tipped back his Stetson, wiped his brow and pulled the brim down again. "After a comment like that, I can see why they'd want to check your head some more."

  She glanced up, unsmiling. "I may have issues—"

  "Hell, we've all got issues."

  "Brooks, I'm trying to think of what's best for Timmy. God knows, I want that to be me. But if that's selfish—"

  "Selfish?" He sucked a breath between his teeth and blew it out in a hiss. "Damn, woman. You're the best thing that's happened to my kid since I got him. You think we haven't tried to accomplish the things you have? You've got something special—he responds to you. So no, I don't think it's selfish. And I don't want another nanny. I want you."

  Her gaze shot to his, brown eyes wide with wonder.

  He scowled at his word choice, the double meaning far closer to the truth than he cared to admit. "Look, Jo would never put Timmy at risk. If she had reason to question your abilities, she'd say so. Now did she even imply…?"

  "No." She bit her lip.

  He rocked back on his heels. "So unless I'm mistaken, the only one here with doubts is you, so let me ask you this straight out. Do you think you're a threat to Timmy?"

  No sooner had he spoken the words than her expression turned fierce, like a mama bear protecting her cub. "I would never let anything happen to that little boy." Her intensity appeared to startle her, but it didn't faze Brooks in the least. She'd put to words what he'd seen with his own eyes.

  "Great, then that's all we have to say on this matter." He peered at the sky. "Doesn't look like it's letting up."

  Amelia blinked at the change in subject, then followed his gaze, pulled up her collar and shook her head.

  "Stay here. I'll get the truck." Without waiting for her response, he took off across the parking lot. His long strides shortened the distance in no time. He fired up the engine, let it idle a minute, then turned on the headlights and windshield wipers and pulled to the curb.

  The canopy was several feet back, so he took out his slicker and held it over her head, so she wouldn't get soaked. "Watch your step." He took her elbow and made sure she didn't slip climbing into the cab.

  "Thanks." She turned in the passenger seat, shook her head at him and smiled—the first real smile he'd seen from her since the episode in the hospital.

  "What?" He leaned down to see her better.

  She reached out a hand, and for an instant, he thought she meant to touch his face, but she held her fingers under a stream of water that poured off his hat.

  "You have the world's best manners," she said.

  He squinted. "I do?"

  "Yes, you do." At his sour expression, she gave a small laugh. "That was a compliment." She flicked her fingers and splashed a few raindrops at him. One caught him in the eye, and he reflexively blinked and pulled back. She paled. "Oh. S-sorry. I didn't mean to…"

  His heart tightened painfully. What kind of bastard took offense at something as innocent as that? God, how he wanted to pummel the damn jerk into the ground. But as his temper spiked, he thought of what Jo had said and tried like hell to let it go, to channel it into something productive.

  "Some compliment." He flashed an easy grin and flicked her back. "Ranks up there with telling a guy he's nice."

&n
bsp; Just like that, her smile came back, loosening something in his chest. "I, um, hate to break this to you, but you are very—"

  "Whoa." Brooks grimaced and held up a hand in protest. "You don't want to go there." He stepped back and gestured for her to tuck all her body parts inside before he closed the door and rounded to his side.

  He wasn't about to admit helping her in and out of the pickup afforded him a spectacular view of her butt, a fact he was fairly certain landed him on Santa's naughty—not nice—list. So he climbed beside her and tried to think nice thoughts, none of which included how intimate the cab felt after nightfall … especially in a storm.

  He checked the digital clock on the dash. Forty-eight more hours until his date. Could time crawl any slower? The day felt like a week, during which he hadn't eaten a bite. He was well beyond famished, in dire need of fortification before he keeled on the spot. He didn't know if a man had ever died of sperm retention, but he didn't want to find out.

  "Brooks?" The soft lilt of Amelia's voice threatened to drop-kick him over the edge. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he struggled to come up with a suitable response.

  "I just thought since you spent all that time at the hospital with me…"

  Not his idea of quality time. No, the kind of time he wanted to spend with Amelia—

  Gave him half a mind to pull over, jump out and send her on without him. A fifty-mile hike through frigid rain would do him a world of good right about now.

  "There must be something…" she whispered.

  "There's something," the words came out from between clenched teeth, the muscles in his jaw tight with the effort of his restraint. "You can take care of Timmy."

  "Besides—"

  "No," he said with more force than intended, then added hastily, "thank you."

  But at his clipped tone, Amelia bit her lip and stared out the window, making him feel like an even bigger jackass.

  Damn, he wanted to wrap his arm around her waist and haul her across the cab, settle her next to him and shelter her from the world. But he also wanted to lift her face to his, nibble on that ever-tempting lower lip and satisfy his curiosity about its softness.

  How the hell was he supposed to protect her from him?